Pictures We Drew
by I.drive.a.Delorean
Summary: Last thoughts of the Harper's Island characters before/during/after their deaths. A series of one-shots in no particular order.
1. Shane Pierce

_Jimmy… _I thought_. Come on, buddy, don't die on me. Don't leave me here alone._

Aw, Jesus, what's the point? We were all going to die, I knew that. But…there were so many things I hadn't done yet. Hey, maybe it was a good thing I didn't have kids. My parents were assholes, I was an asshole most of the time. Hell, my kids would probably be assholes too. It all seemed so…insignificant. I thought I was going to die old and grey, but that vision dissolved quickly.

"Mommy, he's here," the kid said, just before a certain mass-murderer broke down the front door. I jumped up from my chair, staring at Wakefield. He stared back, but turns toward the bar. Nikki had run behind it and grabbed the shotgun sitting there. She brought it down, but Wakefield grabbed the barrel. He held his boarding knife over the bar, and Nikki struggled to free it from his grip. She fired a shot through the roof, and then Wakefield stabbed his knife deep into her stomach.

I felt a pain in my own. The blonde girl-Chloe?-started screaming, and I grabbed the kid and Shea. I herded them away, towards the bathroom. They could get out the window. Wakefield dragged Nikki's body over the bar and dropped her on the ground. Trish took over getting the girls out of here, and I pulled out my knife.

Wakefield gave me a bloodthirsty grin. We stood, facing each other, staring the other one down. Wakefield threw the table between us to one side, and stepped forward. Trish picked up a gun and levelled it at him.

I turned quickly. "Go!" I yelled, and then faced my death.

"You don't scare me," I said. I was tired of running. I wanted to be the one calling the shots. Wakefield held up his own knife, as if to say _I'll try harder._ It was going to be hard to kill him, since all I had was this six inch switchblade, but I'd give it my best.

I took a swing at him, and he ducked back. Voices started, egging me on. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, and then my father's voice.

_You failed, Shane, _he said. _You couldn't protect Nikki, you let Kelly be murdered. They're both dead, and you're going to die a failure._

"Shut up," I hissed, and lunged at Wakefield again. He stepped back, and then mirrored me. I dodged it, still trying to shut out the voices shrieking in my head.

_Why, Shane?_ Kelly's voice cried. _Why did you let him kill me? I loved you, Shane, and you left me to die._

There was pause, in which we stared each other down, and then Wakefield made another lunge towards me. I moved to the side, but couldn't stop the knife from slicing my arm. I also couldn't help crying out and grabbing onto the wound, which only made it hurt more.

Things started to get a little hazy, and a red mist slowly creeped its way across my vision. I swung blindly, and Wakefield cut my side. I yelled again, trying to ignore the burning stripes and concentrate on killing this bastard.

_Shane, Shane, Shane. Save us, Shane. Avenge us. Kill him. Don't be the failure you always were._

"Shut up," I hissed, stabbing forwards. Wakefield grabbed my arm and twisted it back. I grimaced, and then punched him with my other fist. I tried to pull away from Wakefield, but he had grabbed onto my jacket. He brought the knife down and sliced a deep cut cross my wrist. I screamed and pushed against it, moving my switch to my other hand.

I let out a tortured moan and swung at air. I could hardly see, the voices wouldn't shut up and my side and arms were burning, burning, burning. I kept swinging, hoping to hit something. I could see the bastard grinning. This was all a game to him, wasn't it? Nothing but a game, and I was the pawn. He stepped forward and shoved the knife through my chest.

Red. Red mist, making everything have a bloody tint to it. I could feel the blood seeping into my lungs, and the warmth as it spilled out of my mouth. Wakefield ripped the knife out and threw me to the floor.

It still hurt, every bit of me. I didn't know how I was still alive, but I must have been, because my whole body was on fire and the voices were berating me. I could hear Wakefield stomping off. The girls. I had to save the girls.

_Come on, Shane._ Kelly's voice was proud this time. _You can do this._

"Kelly," I whispered. "Help me." I managed to struggle to all fours, and felt a sudden warmth. Somebody pulled me to my feet, and helped me to stagger over to the bathroom. I pushed open the door. Wakefield was staring down Trish, who had the shotgun pointed at his heart.

"Hey," I growled. Wakefield turned towards me and Trish escaped out the window. Wakefield gave me a look that said something like why-are-you-still-alive? and stepped towards me. But I couldn't see him. All I could see was Kelly standing in front of me, giving me that smile I loved. And I didn't feel it when Wakefield stabbed me again. I didn't remember falling to the floor, didn't think of him stringing up my body for the others to find. There was only Kelly, and all I could feel was her breath mixing with mine, her lips just brushing my own.

I hope somebody feels sorry for me. Hope somebody misses me. Maybe Jimmy will shed few tears over my body. Maybe Abby will. Or that kid, if she ever gets over being so creepy. But you can't deny that I died for a reason. I saved somebody's life, at least. I maybe made up for all the crap I did before.

I mean, it was pretty badass death, wasn't it?


	2. JD Dunn

**A/N: I dunno about this one. I kinda liked Shane's better…but whatever. So long as you people out there like it.**

"You better run, because next time I see you, you're dead!" Shane called after me as I ran out of the police station. I didn't care what he thought. I was getting out of this hellhole. I ran down the road, heading for the marina. There were boats; I could get off the island. I could live.

Lucky for me I spent all my summers working with boats, in between hiding from Shane and his friends, of course. I managed to untie the boat and locate the keys. I put the keys in the ignition and turned it. The boat sputtered, the engine revved for a moment and then it died.

"Dammit," I yelled, smacking the steering wheel.

"Need some help?" I turned, and saw Henry leaning against a post. "You're supposed to be in jail, you know. They tend to frown upon people just up and leaving."

"Henry…please. You know it's not me. I never could have killed Wellington, or Kelly." He smiled softly, full of sympathy.

"I know you didn't kill Wellington. You have impulses, but you're not a killer. You never were." He grinned fully this time, and I could hear the click of a knife opening. A load of things went through my mind, the first being that there was now a chance that, maybe, I wouldn't make it off the island after all.

"W…what makes you so sure? A few hours ago you were positive you had caught the next Wakefield. Why the change of heart?" Henry pulled a knife from behind his back pointing it at me. I backed away slowly, bumping into a barrel.

"Nowhere to run this time, JD." Henry stepped forwards and sunk the knife into my stomach. My eyes widened and I grabbed the hilt of the knife. I felt a warm wave drench my hand, and forced myself not to look down.

"You weren't the killer," Henry said.

"Because you were," I whispered. I started to fall backwards, grabbing the barrel for support. Henry pulled his knife out, and stabbed me again. I landed hard on the ground, gasping and coughing up blood. I groaned loudly, and tried to stop the bleeding. Henry laughed quietly.

"You were supposed to get off the island. I had plans for you. You would have survived, if only you'd stayed in the jail cell. Funny how little things like that can affect us." My breath started coming in gasps, and I stared Henry in the eyes.

"You'd kill your own brother. You probably killed Dad too."

"You're not my brother. And that liar was not my father." At my confused look he continued. "John Wakefield is my father. My real father."

Voices started to sound, and they were getting closer. Everything started to get a little blurry, and Henry stepped back a bit.

"Why…" I gasped.

"Abby. It's all for Abby." Henry picked up my legs and shoved me behind the barrel. He then turned, and then walked away. "Goodbye, JD." I tried to call out, but all that escaped my bloody lips was a weak cry. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I thought, panicking. I suddenly didn't want to die. There was so much stuff I needed to do.

Footsteps. Coming closer. Somebody…somebody looking for me? A light bounced across the dock, and I heard Abby calling out. She falls to her knees next to me, looking horrified. I cough wetly, and a splash of blood seeps its way from between my lips.

"Abby," I wheeze, not able to keep the note of panic out of my voice.

"JD…who did this to you?" She turns away and covers her mouth and nose.

"It's you…it's all about you," I whisper. Her eyes go big and glassy, and I let out one more gurgle. The last thing I see is her face, hovering above me like some kind of angel.

I just want to have some peace. To go somewhere where nobody cares that I tried to kill myself, nobody thinks I'm some kind of freak. Maybe I'll see Kelly again. Maybe I'll see my dad.

Henry's standing behind Abby, but I don't care. I don't think he'll kill her. I don't know anything anymore. Who knows, maybe Abby's on Henry's side. Maybe she's helping him kill everybody. I think about it, but I can't bring myself to feel sorry for anybody. It doesn't seem like I was involved anymore. I'm just another body to count. I never made a difference, never did anything special. Apathy, that's the word for it. I don't have to worry, I can sit back and watch the rest of this horror show.

It doesn't matter that I knew these people. It doesn't make a difference that I left everything behind. Because I don't care anymore. Nobody ever cared about JD the freak. I'm just another dead guy.

**A/N: The next one will be Kelly Seaver. Enjoy!**


	3. Kelly Seaver

**A/N: ****Wow, thanks for all the reviews and comments I got from people, and for the favourite-ing and stuff! Feedback gets me pumped, and I only hope I can get better at this. I hate to disappoint people. Enjoy the rest of the story.**

I tried to keep the stupid grin off my face, but it kept coming back. I think this might have been the happiest day of my life. JD was a really great guy, and I think we could have something good going on. I really hoped it worked out, and, for the first time, didn't think about how much my life sucked.

"Kelly Dunn," I said out loud, liking how it sounded. It seemed a little early to be thinking about that, but I knew things would work out. They had to, for once. I mean, I was never this happy.

I turned on the radio, and tuned into one of the many classic rock radio stations Seattle had to offer. It was playing "Footloose", so I started dancing, glad nobody could see me. I J-Lo'ed my way through a few more songs, and then finally threw myself down on the couch, dead tired. Oh, crap. Bonfire tonight, and Nikki was coming to get me soon. I jumped off the couch and ran to my bathroom. I undressed quickly, and turned on the shower. While I waited for it to warm up, I looked at myself in the mirror. The first thing I saw, as always, were the Wakefield tattoos. Shane had only agreed to do them because I was sleeping with him, but I didn't care. They were a part of me, part of my history now. Usually I'd get a sort of forbidden thrill when I saw them, like I was seventeen again, and sneaking out to parties and stuff. This time, they just left me feeling cold. I mean, JD had all these tattoos, and they all _meant_ something. This just signified me as freak, set me apart. The shower was steaming by now, so I stepped under the hot water and washed everything away. I cleaned up and then dried myself off. I then ran to my bedroom and pulled out a black dress that I just _knew _JD would like.

I opened the window wide, to see how nice it was out. I didn't really want to cover up, but I would if I had to. Fortunately it was pretty nice out. I heard a loud knock on the door, kind of impatient-like. I ran down the stairs, thinking it was Nikki, coming to pick me up. I opened the door, but nobody was there.

"Niiiiiiiiiiiiikeeeeeee?" I called out, in case she was playing some stupid joke. I didn't think she would, because of my Wakefield thing, but everybody has their memory lapses. I looked around a bit, but nobody was there. I closed the door slowly. The radio's song changed to "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. It sent a chill down my spine, and I shivered, suddenly noticing the shadows dancing on my walls. I walked down the hallway slowly, hearing footsteps where there were none. I closed my eyes, took a few steps forward, turned to face the wall, and opened my eyes.

I saw the shadow before the person. But there was no mistaking who it was. Because I saw the face of the man who had haunted all my dreams, and had hidden in every shadow. The man who murdered my mother, the man I had spent 7 years obsessing over. John Wakefield.

Things fade to black.

I wake up, but everything is a little blurry. It's also lower than it used to be. I realize I'm standing on a chair. I try to step down and feel a rope tighten around my neck, and I freeze. He's here. John Wakefield is right in front of me. He's sitting on my couch, just watching me.

"John Wakefield," I whisper.

"In person. Do you know why I'm here?"

"You're going to finish what you started, what started seven years ago."

He sighs. "That was just the beginning. I'm going to kill you, but not because you're such a freak. I've seen that tattoos, everyone has. They're going to think you finally did yourself in."

"How…how do you know so much about me?" Something like hope fluttered in my chest. I don't know why, because I knew I wasn't going to see JD or Nikki again.

"Don't think I actually give a damn. Henry gave me everything I needed to know about you. How you went downhill after my first rampage. How you became obsessed with the idea of me. The tattoos. You even left flowers on my supposed grave. And how I killed your mother the same way I'm going to kill you."

"Henry Dunn is…he helped you?"

"He's my son. Mine ad Sarah Mills. That's why I killed those people. That's why your mother's dead. You can blame Abby for it if you want. She's all that's left now."

And then he stood up. He reached for the rope, fingered the knot at the back of my neck.

"Goodbye Kelly," he said, and then he kicked the chair away. And I fell, and everything was cut short. My breath came out in one choking gasp, and then it was over.

_I don't care, JD. Your brother isn't you. I still care, so I'm going to watch. I'll watch, and wait. And when you die, I'll be here for you. Waiting._

**A/N:**** That's it. I'm stuck for ideas…any suggestions?**


	4. Joel Booth

_Why me? _

It's always _me_. Always the one who has to do the stupid dares, like sneaking into Amanda Hayes's dorm room and stealing one of her bras. Then getting caught, and having her boyfriend beat the crap out of me. And now this. I never asked for this. I didn't want to take the money off the boat. Jesus.

I mean, things were getting way too heavy for me. Finding the dead guy on the boat, and then all this money. It was making me way too nervous. And the only thing I could feel was the cold metal of the gun pressing against my back. A gun that, 30 minutes ago, I had taken from my best friend and tucked into my waistband. Along with a shovel, a flashlight, and $250 000 in cold, hard cash.

Dark. It was getting dark and, oh crap. I still needed to find somewhere to bury this. _Just get it out of the way for a few days_. I dropped everything on the ground. I was _so_ not going any farther. I'll just leave it here. Bury the money, get back to the party, and sure as hell don't piss yourself. Okay, I had a plan.

_Crack._

Oh, shit, shit, shit. Somebody's here. Somebody's followed me and, oh God, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die here and nobody will find my body and oh, God please don't kill me.

_Okay, seriously. _I mentally slapped myself and pulled out the gun. "That's it, I swear to God. I'm gonna bust a cap in your ass."

Malcolm jumped out, hands in the air. I nearly pulled the trigger, stopped myself just in time. "Don't shoot! It's me, it's cool. It's just me," he called out. A wave of relief washed over me.

"Oh, God," I sighed. "You scared the hell outta me. What were you doing?"

"I…I was watching your back."

"Dammit! Don't do that again!" Malcolm gave me a relieved smile and nodded. I lowered the gun, and then there was a bang and a flash. The gun fell to the ground, and Malcolm started yelling.

"I've been hit!" he panicked. I stared, terrified. I didn't shoot him, I didn't kill him, oh God, I did. I shot my best friend, and now he's gonna die out here all alone and oh my God. I'm gonna go to prison I'm…whoa. Everything went sorta trippy for a second there.

"I…I'm okay," Mal said. He laughed, and grinned at me. Panic averted, I began to laugh with him. Ooh, that made it worse. Maybe I need new glasses or something.

"I'm okay…" Mal looked at me and pointed. "Booth…" I looked down. My leg…oh shit.

"You…you shot yourself." I suddenly got _really _dizzy. But…I was okay, right?

"Wha…no. It…didn't hurt. I mean, it would hurt, right?" It had to have hurt. I mean, it was a gun. Guns always hurt.

"Well, yeah. 'Course it would, man." Okay, I was gonna be okay. Maybe we were just overreacting. But then…why was everything getting darker?

"Wow, it must be a flesh would. That was a close call, dude." Just a flesh wound. Like in Monty Python. I'm gonna be okay.

"Yeah…" I said. My legs gave out almost immediately after I said it, and I crashed to the ground.

"Booth?" Mal ran over to me. "Booth." I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down.

"Oh, God, that's a lot of blood," he said, pressing one hand to my leg.

"Really," I gasped. It was hard to say anything else. My brain and my mouth didn't seem connected anymore. And my vision was pulsing, and getting darker at the same time. Oh, God.

"I think you hit something…" Mal pressed both hands down. "I gotta go get help."

"No, no, no. Don't. Don't leave me." I don't wanna die alone, Mal. Don't leave me here to die by myself.

"That's a lot of blood, we need help." I tried to grab his arm.

"Don't leave me," I whispered.

"Okay…" Mal said something else, but I didn't hear. _Come on, Booth. Stay…conscious. Stay…_

Everything goes dark, like when a curtain comes down. I can hear Malcolm yelling, and feel him shaking me. But…I can't move. I don't wanna die, Mal.

He hugs me close, and the last thing I feel is warmth. And somehow, it feels safe.

**A/N: ****I wanted to add something about when Malcolm visits Booth's grave and talks to him…but I think this is the way it's supposed to end.**


	5. Christopher 'Sully' Sullivan

"Danny's dead." When I heard those words…well it was the first time I ever doubted my best friend. But, like an idiot, I prolonged it.

"You don't know that." I kept walking. I couldn't look at him; this was getting way too weird.

"Trish's dead too." I stopped walking, turned to face Henry. "I killed her." I would have cried. I would have dropped to my knees and bawled my eyes out if I hadn't given up crying. I had seen too many people die. I had dug a bullet out of a guy's chest. Crying seemed futile now.

"You shut up, man. Seriously. Just shut up." Geez, I knew Henry could be weird sometimes, but now he was an insensitive asshole. What the fuck was going on?

"I killed my brother too." JD…Jesus. No. He couldn't kill his brother. They weren't the best of friends…but they had each other's backs, right?

"At the marina, in the rain, remember? Abby almost caught me." I started to back away, and he followed me. _And so you made up some sob story about how you tried to save him, didn't you? You probably cut yourself up to make it look real, you sick freak._

_Stop it, Sullivan. Why are you thinking all this? The guy's been your best friend since you were eleven, for God's sake._

"Okay, what are you doing, Henry?" You trying to screw me up? Well, it's working. I hope you're happy.

"I'm coming clean," he said simply. "It's time to start a new life." He gestured to me. "You're my friend. You deserve to know before I…well look, it's not like I killed them all, my dad did a lot."

"Your dad is _dead_. I went to his funeral." I held you when you bawled your fucking eyes out. I carried you home when you passed out drunk at the bar. I drove you to see JD at the institution.

He looked disgusted. "Oh, no, man, not that guy. Not that _liar_. My _real dad_. John Wakefield. He's the only person that's told me the truth." _What about me? _The little voice in my head asked. _I never lied to you. I loved you like a brother, cared about you. You can't _do _this to me_.

But somehow I couldn't verbalize these thoughts. "No…you-you've been my best friend since junior high." He pulled out a pocket knife, unfolding it.

"Oh, come on," I moaned. "Henry, don't." If he stabbed me, I would die. I wouldn't respawn back at headquarters. It would be over. Life wasn't a video game, Sully. These people were real.

"Sully," he whispered.

I levelled the shotgun at his chest. "Don't make me shoot you."

"I decapitated Reverend Fain…I harpooned Richard Allen." he punctuated every name with a little flick of his knife, just like he was counting them off. And…he had been. This was all a game to him. Play perfect husband and then murder every-fucking-body.

"Stop!" I said forcefully.

"I even stabbed Katherine. At the Candlewick, when everybody was running around looking for Madison…pretty exciting stuff." He smiled when he said it. The bastard _smiled_.

"Do you want me to kill you?" I cried, for all the world sounding like he actually was in my power. But he wasn't. he never had been. He had been playing us all this time.

He laughed. "Now you're something funny. You remember that money we found?" No. Don't go there. Booth died because of that money. Malcolm was dead too. I wish we had never taken you fishing.

"It was Uncle Marty's. He wanted to invest in Malcolm. You know, be the big hero, save the day. I wanted Malcolm to _find _the money. See what he would do." _Enough. Enough of your fucking sick games. I don't want to hear it anymore. _He paused, staring at a point past my shoulder. "He made good beer, didn't he?"

It sent me over the edge. "You son of a _bitch_," I hissed, pulling the trigger. The gun protested with a click. Henry laughed and held up two shells.

"Sorry." I turned the rifle over, gripping the barrel. I swung it back.

"Hey dad," Henry said nonchalantly as all get out. He pointed. "John Wakefield's right behind you." I had to admit, I waited. I waited for him to say 'gotcha' and laugh and the past ten minutes would be a hallucination.

"How stupid do you think I am?" I wanted to cry. I was so _close_ to breaking. And, surprisingly, I felt something like pity for JD. He had felt like this almost every day of his life. He was probably the only one who had seen the real Henry.

"Pretty stupid," said John Wakefield. I turned, caught between the two of them. I stared for moment, and Henry came up behind me. I felt the cold steel of the knife sink between my ribs, and he wrapped an arm around my neck.

I tried to struggle. I grabbed Henry's arm, tried to escape. And, oh God help me, all I could see was John Wakefield smiling at me. He was enjoying this. Watching his son destroy the life he could have had.

They say your life flashes before your eyes. It did, but I could only see me and Henry. The first day we met, the day he started going out with Trish, all the times I tried to sleep with her. How much fun we had on the boat, joking and laughing. His bachelor party.

"You never should have dogged Trish," Henry whispered. _But it wasn't about her, was it? _I wanted to scream. _You never loved her either_. He pulled the knife upwards, and I cold hear a sickening crack. It was the sound of him breaking me. I didn't want to die, but having everything go dark seemed like a pretty good option. I could forget about everything that had happened. _Rest in peace, Sully. _And I almost laughed.

I slowly let go and Henry drops me to the ground. I can see them watching my body. Like I'm going to do anything, not after I died.

_I hope whoever you did this for gives you hell. _It would be the least you deserve. I hope that maybe, just maybe, you feel as bad as I did when you die. Maybe God'll grant me that much. He'll make sure the rest of your life sucks. And then maybe He'll let me watch.


	6. Patricia 'Trish' Wellington

**A/N:** **Yeeeeeeeeeeeee, new chapter! DFTBA peeps!**

"Henry?" I called out. It had to be him…who else would it be? The door shuddered violently, and then burst open.

Everything they said couldn't prepare me for the sight of him. Everybody had talked about him, but I had never seen him for real. John Wakefield, the man who had killed all those people. My heart almost stopped, and I ran.

Wait…horror movie stuff. Make sure he can't get to you. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it. John Wakefield threw himself against the door and I started to panic. I smacked my hands against the window, and found something to break it with. Yanking the lamp off the dresser, I smashed it against the window.

The glass shattered, and I broke more out of the window pane. The door slammed again and I pulled myself out of the window. I took a deep breath and jumped out, landing in the hedge. I lay on the ground, stunned for a moment. And suddenly I remembered why I had jumped out the window, and I ran.

I should have changed. Put on a pair of jeans, but whatever. I picked up my dress and got the hell out of there. It was cold, too cold to run. My chest started to hurt and my breaths became gasps for air. I couldn't see him behind me, but I knew he was following me. I knew he wanted me dead.

A part of me wanted to be, too. The part that had seen everybody die, the part that had ached when my best friends were killed. The insecure part of me that I had always tried to keep hidden. It would have been far easier to let him kill me. But, as Daddy said, I always was a fighter.

Just as I didn't think I could run anymore, I saw a figure up ahead. My Henry. I could have cried, I was so relieved. I fell straight into his chest and wrapped my arms around him.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," I cried.

"I've got you," Henry said, calm as ever. I felt like my heart could burst. He was still here, still alive. My rock, my saviour.

"I thought he'd killed you," I panted, still hysterical. I didn't want to move. This moment seemed almost…perfect. We were still alive, and help was coming. We could make it.

But, regrettably, I pulled away. If I could have frozen time, I would have. I would have spent eternity in Henry's arms, before everything blew up in my face.

"We have to go," I said quickly. "Wakefield escaped." I'd never forget that. I'd never forget his eyes, and the bloodthirsty grin on his face.

"I know," Henry whispered, holding me at arm's length. "I gave him they key."

A part of me died when he said that. I didn't want it to be true, but it was. Henry was a killer.

"What?" I gasped, like an idiot. I should have seen it coming.

"Sully was right," Henry said. "Wakefield has an accomplice. It's just not Jimmy."

"No," I whispered. My Henrybear couldn't have killed people. He was too damn nice to be a murderer. He was the perfect man. He was…oh my God.

"No, no."

"Look," he said, holding onto me even as I tried to pull away. "I know how hard this must be for you."

"You lied!" I screamed, shoving myself away from him. I fell to the ground and crawled away. I had to get out of here I had to wake up from this nightmare.

"Stop," Henry said. "Stop." He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me up. I yelled in pain, and felt tears start to drip down my face. It broke me. I didn't want to die.

"Stop it!" he ordered. "Don't make this harder than it is." _Don't make it harder, you bastard_, I thought. _Don't make it harder when you've ruined my life. Don't make it harder when you're trying to kill me. Don't make it harder…_

"It was going to happen on our wedding night if not here," he whispered. "Listen…"

"You killed them," I whispered between sobs. "You killed…my father…and JD…" It was horrible. I knew I was dying somehow. I wanted to, at least now I did. How could I go on after this?

"Oh my God," I murmured.

"I'm sorry. They had to go. It was part of the plan…I didn't want to give it away." So…he let us run around like idiots. He turned everyone against JD. He let us hate Charlie Mills and Jimmy. And he probably laughed all the way through it. And a flare of anger rose up in me.

"You bastard," I hissed. I twisted out of his arms. "You bastard!" I slapped at his chest, and Henry grabbed me again.

"It's not fair," he whispered as I sobbed against his shoulder. I heard a click and then pain.

"It's not fair." Henry whispered to me even as he was killing me. He kept repeating it. _It wasn't fair_, I thought. It wasn't fair that my fiancé was a killer. It wasn't fair that he was the son of a mass murderer. It wasn't fair that I was dying. It wasn't fair that everyone else was killed. It wasn't fair that Abby's… oh my God.

"It…" I murmured, too quiet for him to hear.

It wasn't fair, Henry. It wasn't fair that I loved you. It wasn't fair that you loved your best friend. But, even though he was killing me, even though he was destroying everything we could have had, I didn't hate him.

I saw pain when I looked into his eyes. And, I thought maybe…just maybe…he loved me too. Just for a little bit.


	7. Beth Barrington

It seemed like a funny quirk, Chloe's thing for serial killers. Just one of the things that made Chloe, Chloe. It seems morbid now, considering what happened. But things were innocent before, all in good fun. I know better now. We all do.

I thought it was nothing but a point of bland interest, the fact that there was going to be a wedding on Harper's Island. A happy occasion, when seven years ago, John Wakefield massacred six people. I had actually never given him much thought, beyond Chloe's musings. I didn't really think he was a real person. That is, until I met him.

First off, it scared me, the moment when the power went off. I had never liked the dark very much. I guess that's when I knew something bad was going to happen. Just, not to me, I thought.

We had to go as a group to investigate. Because groups are safe, right? That's what horror movies say. _Don't go off alone, or you're a goner. You might as well gift wrap yourself for the psycho_. Which is why I thought I'd be safe, of course. I thought I wouldn't have to watch my back. Because people are always safe in groups, right? Wrong.

* * *

It happened so fast. One minute I was there, the next, I was gone. My first impulse when the cold hand clamped over my mouth was to scream. To bite, kick, fight. But then something cold and steely pressed into my side and a hoarse voice told me to 'keep still and shut up' and then, 'follow me'.

My hands were tied behind my back, a gag shoved into my mouth. I followed blindly behind my kidnapper into a dark tunnel. _The tunnels_, I thought. And, suddenly, I knew what was going to happen. Wherever we were going, I was being lead there to _die_.

I didn't want to die. Nobody _wants_ to die. I thought maybe I could escape. It was worth a try, if I was dead anyway. So, silently, I balled my hands into fists and lifted them. I stepped a little closer and swung my fists as hard as I could into his Adam's Apple. He coughed, cursed, and dropped the boarding knife he was carrying. I picked it up and ran.

I tried to slice through the bonds as I ran, which is as hard s it sounds. I managed to sever the rope, but the knife slipped and sliced into my palm. I bit my lip, hard, to keep from crying out. My hand bled quickly, but I pressed it against my shirt and kept running.

The knife fell to the ground, forgotten as I ran. I could hear heavy footsteps behind me, and I noticed a tiny air vent near the ground on my left. It looked big enough to accommodate me, and hopefully _he_ wouldn't notice it.

I squeezed into the tunnel, my bloody hand slipping as I tried to scramble forwards. The footsteps disappear, and then I hear a shuffling behind me. No, no , no , _no_. Please. Don't let it be him. I dig my nails into the tunnel walls and pull myself forward again. I stretch one arm forward, and look up ahead-

-as something stabs into my hip. I scream and kick out. My foot connects with something, and I hear a grunt. I pull myself forward and feel a white hot flash of pain in my legs.

"No," I cry, tears coursing down my cheeks. "Please-" I'm cut off by another stabbing pain, and a warm wetness bubbling up in my throat. Everything below my waist is white-hot pain- a mad hacking and slashing. I start to scream wordlessly unable to do anything else. _Please, no. Don't hurt me, make it stop please. I don't wanna die here, _alone_. I can't feel my legs, haven't you hurt me enough? Let me _go. I don't realize I'm screaming this, don't even know what's going on anymore.

And John Wakefield lets me go.

He disappears in the tunnel, and I'm alone. So I try to haul myself forward again. I see a split up ahead. I can hide there…but I'm so tired. It's…hard to move. And everything is…fuzzy. Dar. I can sleep here, right? John Wakefield's gone…it should be safe.

"Safe," I murmur, my head falling down onto my outstretched arm.

Needless to say, it's one nap I don't wake up from.


	8. Malcolm Ross

It was all my fault.

My best friend was dead-because of me. Because I had been selfish and thought that maybe the money could keep my struggling business afloat. Because I had been a stupid bastard and shot a hole in the boat. I should have gone down with the boat. The boat and the money, and then maybe Booth would still be alive. Who knows.

Despite everything that had happened, I didn't want to get rid of the money. Some tiny part of me, the part that had retreated since Booth's death told me to keep it. If we got off the island, I was saved. Sacred Turtle would survive. I would be rich. But my guilt outweighed my monetary needs and I agreed to get rid of it.

In retrospect, it was probably waiting to happen. I was carrying thousands of dollars, unarmed, alone in a dark basement. If that didn't kill me, then I don't know what did.

The furnace was hot, but I felt colder than ice. I pulled open my backpack and started tossing in wads of cash.

_Come on, Mal_, a voice in my head was saying. _At least keep some of it. You _need_ this money. Booth would understand. He knows how much Sacred Turtle meant to you._

"Shut up," I said out loud. I could feel a lump start to form in my throat and I drew in a shuddering breath. This money was bad luck, I decided. It had killed Booth. It had killed that guy on the boat.

I tried to make my mind go blank, just trying to focus on getting rid of the money. I did _not_ want to be here, and I was debating on just throwing in the whole backpack and leaving. But the masochistic part of me wanted to toss the money in one at a time. It wanted to watch it burn, to remember how it was this money that had killed Booth. This money and my own idiotic, greedy self.

I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I almost couldn't believe the hand clamping down on my arm. A single thought connected before I saw his face; _security, only security. What are you doing down here with all this money_, that kind of thing. Only, it wasn't a security guard, and _I _didn't have time to ask him why _he_ was down here before he sunk a knife into my chest.

I started yelling, cut off only by blood bubbling up in my throat. He continued to grin savagely as he stabbed me again.

_Why_? I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. So I settled for trying something, anything, to get away. I managed to pull myself back, my hand clutching the edge of the furnace. I couldn't hold in a scream of pain as my hand sizzled, couldn't stop Henry as he dragged me backwards.

He started getting frenzied, stabbing me again and again, blood flying everywhere. All I could do was stare up at him as one of my best friends murdered me.

I didn't have time to ask for answers, couldn't wonder why he decided to do this. I could only die, my part in Henry's story finally played out. But as I looked up into his eyes, before he sunk the knife in one final time, I saw no remorse. It wasn't really Henry anymore, and that shouldn't have comforted me, but it did. It meant that the real Henry, our Henry, was out there somewhere. That this pale imitation had nothing on him.

I thought, maybe, I'd end up somewhere where my friends didn't die or get killed, someplace we could drink all the beer we wanted, where I was the rich and famous owner of a giant brewery. Somewhere where bridegrooms didn't murder their way through the wedding party. Because, hey, a guy can dream, can't he?


	9. Lucy Daramour

The island was really pretty, but the people here were so _messed up_. Like that big fisherman guy who came to the bonfire. He was exactly like one of my old boyfriends, all full of himself and acting like he owned the place. I didn't know who he was, but Henry seemed really pissed off at him for some reason. I mean, he started yelling and he punched the guy out.

"Yes," I heard somebody hiss. He was standing in front of me and I realized that it was that creepy guy. Henry's brother…was it JD?

I snorted despite myself and he turned to look at me. He gave me the once over, eyes lingering in places that they…shouldn't be.

"What do you want?" I asked. He shook his head and laughed quietly. He opened his mouth slightly, then kept smiling.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all." He walked away, still grinning. OMG, he was _such_ a creep. I looked around for Gigi to hold onto, but she was gone.

"Gigi?" I called. I started to walk, looking for her. I finally saw her at the edge of the forest.

"Gigi? Come here." She barked at me once and turned and ran into the forest. I sighed and made a mental note to not put her down. The island was obviously freaking her out. To be honest, I didn't know why Trish wanted to have her wedding here. They had only ever spent summers on the island, and the thing with the serial killer was _scary_.

I walked through the forest, hating that I didn't bring a flashlight. It was getting dark, like seriously.

"Gigi? Where are you?" I heard a bark and saw a white flash ahead so I started running to catch up. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a pit, covered in dirt. I stood up. I wasn't hurt too bad, but I knew I would totally have hideous bruises tomorrow. Gigi came up to the edge of the pit and barked at me.

"Gigi!" I cried. "Go get help!" She barked again and ran off. I didn't think I could get out without help, but it didn't stop me from trying. I'd be damned if I was going to spend all night in this hole.

I totally ruined my outfit, too. There was no way I could get a refund on this. And to make it worse, somebody dumped what seemed like a gallon of water over my head.

"No!" Ugh, my hair would be a complete mess. I could _not_ go back to the hotel looking like this.

I guess that was the end of my worries, though. The water wasn't water. It was gasoline. And the last thing I heard, other than my own screams, was the sound of a striking match.

**A/N: ****Sorry, this one is really short. I never liked Lucy all that much. And it's been while since my last update. Sorry again, things have been kinda hectic here. R&R and tell me who you want to see next!**


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